Plot 4892, Chinese Cemetery Road 12, Lim Chu Kang; she lies alongside rows and rows of well-tended graves on gentle undulating slopes in the Northwest.
It has been several years since I managed to be in the country during Qing Ming, where it is customary to pay respects to forebears by visiting and tidying up their final resting places.
Mdm Tow, or Ah Fo, as I remember Grandmother by, was a remarkable woman.
Born in Hainan Province in China, in a village whose name has sadly been lost to us, she came to Malaya, as Singapore and Malaysia were collectively known then, in search of a better life.
Together with Grandfather, she set up a foodstall selling Hainanese delicacies and Hainanese versions of porkchops, peas and mashed potatoes. Her very first success was a Hainanese dessert called Buah Kia, a dark cane-sugar-flavored syrup filled with little flour strips and flavored with ginger and pandan leaves.
Combine flour and water and knead little fat strips of dough. Boil a pot of water before dropping the Buah Kia in, taking care not to over-boil the mixture. Then smash a piece of ginger before tossing that in with pandan leaves and dark cane sugar.
With her dazzling culinary skills, Ah Fo soon became a household name along Waterloo Street near what's known today as Bugis. When WWII came to Singapore, she fled to Malaysia with Grandfather, my mum and my uncle for a few years before coming back after the war was over.
Grandfather passed away shortly after and Ah Fo, in her indomitable way, single-handedly brought up mum and her brother, managing to pay for both her kids' education. In an era where education for women was still discouraged, Ah Fo, with no formal schooling, recognized the importance of education and in her foresight, insisted that mum went to school as well.
Life was to get better for Ah Fo as Singapore's economy improved, although she always lived a very simple life devoid of things such as televisions and hot-water showers. My elder brother and me were lucky to have her looking after us when we were toddlers. Sadly, she left us for a better place when I was thirteen.
Since then, our time with Ah Fo has been limited to either in dreams or during Qing Ming. The procedure is pretty standard--the day before, mum would buy a chicken and other ingredients to make Hainanese Chicken Rice (Ah Fo's favorite), followed by Buah Kia. At dawn the next day, we'd set off with the food and with various traditional items used to pay homage to ancesters such as incense, red candles, paper money and some gardening tools to trim the grass on Ah Fo's grave.
Her grave is a round-ish egg-shaped mound, encased on the sides and front by stone. From the front, stone lotuses flank her headstone, which is further raised from the ground to knee-level. On the right at ground-level, a stone tablet dedicated to the Earth God sits, protecting Ah Fo's grave.
Ah Fo's kindly face smiles from her headstone.
Etched in neat Chinese characters are her name, year of birth and passing, the names of her descendants and her home village. As nobody remembers which village Ah Fo came from, Grandfather's village, 風頭村 in 文昌縣, 海南島 is used instead.
First we clear the area of stray grass and ashes. Then a set of incense and candles are lit for the Earth God, whom we thank for looking after Ah Fo's resting place. Tea leaves and little snacks are also offered to this image of a kindly old man dressed in classical Chinese robes.
Mum starts laying out Ah Fo's favorite dishes on the raised section before the headstone. Again, incense and candles are lit. My brother and sister-in-law spreads pieces of paper money and colored paper on the grass mound behind the headstone, and pull out little weeds. Little Chloe wanders around, looking curiously at the rows and rows of graves that stretch as far as the eye could see.
Each one of us takes turns to pay our respects.
"Ah Fo, how are you? It's me, your littlest grandchild."
Sorry for not coming for so many years.
Please continue to bless us with your love.
We miss you and hope that you're well."
... so speak the living in remembrance of the dearly departed.
The paper money is then burnt, whole stacks of currency with vivid drawings of deities and the trappings of Paradise. Some of which have been folded into ingots to resemble taels of gold and silver used in olden days.
At that point, it started drizzling, but we didn't budge. Neither did the other families out that day. Somehow, the rain seemed fitting.
A beautiful poem I was forced to learn in school goes:
清明時節雨紛紛，
路上行人欲斷魂。
借問酒家何處有？
牧童遙指杏花村。
